


Let the pages burn

by skullage



Category: Block B
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Break Up, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: It never crossed Kyung's mind, lulled into false pretense by the way the softness of her voice and sweetness of her face made people think Eunbi would never be capable of leaving someone heartbroken and homeless right before they signed their renew lease agreement.or, In the middle of sorting his life out post-break up with Eunbi, Kyung meets Minhyuk, while Jiho has a decision to make.





	1. Chapter 1

The music's too loud and the drink Kyung’s got is too watered down from the ice but he’s sloshing it all over the dance floor so much it doesn’t much matter, his body moving the way it wants to without him worrying about what he looks like or who’s going to fuck him tonight. He’s well past that. He’s drunk enough alcohol tonight that there’s no way he could go back to anyone’s house, no way he could even get it up in his state. Sweat pours off him with other bodies pressed so close, knocking into him with the force of their movements, all of them animals railing against the bars, at least for tonight. He spills his drink down his chin when he drains the last of it, through his mesh top and down his chest. He locks eyes with someone across the dance floor, whose cheek when he smirks dimples and in the light looks half an inch deep. 

Someone laughs in his ear and he turns around with the music to find some European-looking guy smiling at him. Kyung doesn’t have it in him to be polite, to even give this guy a once-over, just curls his lip and goes back to dancing. The guy comes up behind him, his hands on Kyung’s hips, trying to sway to the music like they’re in a jazz club and not Gudeongi, the only open gay and lesbian night club this side of Seoul. Kyung tries to ignore him and feel the beat that reverberates through the floorboards, tugging at the primal urges in his brain, but this guy won’t leave him alone. The hands are rough and leave Kyung feeling dirty, twisting away each time they touch him. 

Eventually Kyung tries to slip away, but the guy grabs his arm and pulls him back in. Kyung’s not strong enough to stop him, not nearly as tall as this guy, and he’s too drunk to do much more than fall into him like this is a romance movie and he’s the heroine who’s just been wooed. The guy grabs him around his waist, smirking while he’s doing it, trying to hold Kyung in place while Kyung tries to squirm out of his grasp. The only thing saving him is that his hand still holding the glass is free and he brings it up, smacking it into the side of this guy’s jaw, making him let go and stumble back. Kyung’s small and it doesn’t take much for him to get lost in the crowd, dropping the glass on the bar as he heads toward the exit. 

It’s hard not to stumble over his own feet and he stops when the guy he locked eyes with earlier steps in front of him. 

“Are you okay? Do you need some help?” The guy has kind eyes and thick eyebrows and Kyung reaches out to him, grabs onto his arms. “Woah.” Eyebrows steadies him, leans down to get onto Kyung’s eye level. 

“I hit him with a glass,” Kyung says, “he’s probably pretty pissed.” The adrenaline running through him pushes a laugh from his throat.

Eyebrows glances over Kyung’s shoulder as he helps him upright. “He’s coming back. You should get out of here. Can you make it down the stairs?”

Kyung’s head spins so much he can barely see anything, tries to focus on the feeling of Eyebrows holding his elbows, shakes his head.

“Okay, I’ll help you.”

They get down the stairs, somehow, Kyung almost tripping a dozen times and leaning more on Eyebrows than standing upright. The cold night air does nothing to sober him up and he stumbles, feels the footpath scrape against his palms before he blacks out.

//

He’s not sure whether it’s his full bladder, dry throat, or throbbing head that wakes him up first but once he’s awake, he’s awake. He rolls off whatever surface he’s on, which turns out to be a couch when he finally opens his eyes, onto a carpet that smells and feels like it’s been cleaned in the last month. It’s definitely not his carpet. For a second he thinks it’s Eunbi's parents’ house before he snaps out of it. Kyung can’t think about her anymore. That part of his life is over.

The rest of the room he’s in is also clean, and full of light, and looks like something out of a magazine. The room itself is bigger than average, bigger than Kyung can afford, and minimalist with sliding doors leading to a small outdoor area that overlooks a courtyard. The walls are a soft cream color and his presence here is incongruous. He’s still in his mesh crop top and cutoff shorts from the night before, his skin tacky from the alcohol and sweat, and he shuffles down the hallway, trying doors until he finds the toilet.

When he gets out, after the most satisfying piss of his life, he comes back into the kitchen to find someone else there, arranging breakfast on the kitchen table without a shirt on. He looks up in surprise.

“Uh,” Kyung says. “I don’t know how I ended up here and I’m sorry if I broke in.”

The guy laughs and motions for Kyung to sit. “I know, I brought you back here. I couldn’t leave you there, but you didn’t have a driver’s license or ID on you.”

Kyung stays still for a minute. He feels self conscious about his outfit, standing in this guy’s pristine kitchen with his waxed legs on display. “Did we have sex? If we did I’m sorry, it must’ve been terrible.”

The guy’s eyebrows something and he grimaces. “You were already unconscious by the time we got in the cab. I just put you on the couch.”

Kyung takes a seat and the guy pushes a bowl of bean sprout soup and a cup of coffee towards him. He’s attractive, very attractive, and Kyung wishes they’d met under better circumstances and he was at least clothed appropriately.

“This house is really nice,” he says, reaching for the coffee first. “The rent has to be impressive.”

“I own it, actually.”

“What are you, a pornstar?”

The guy smiles, and his cheek dimples, and wow. That Kyung remembers. “Architect.”

“Wow, that’s like a real job for grown ups.”

“I’m 26, I don’t think I’m that much older than you.”

“Yeah, but you have your life together. That’s worth more than years.”

He laughs again and Kyung finds it addictive, making him do that. “Can I ask what you do?”

“None of the various jobs I do to scrape together rent money are going to seem as impressive or glamorous as architect.” Kyung sips at his coffee, too hungover for food. His head still pounds but the coffee helps with the dry throat.

“I know what that’s like, I was a student once.”

“And now you’re a real person.”

He puts down his chopsticks and looks at Kyung, seeming to take him in as if he thinks Kyung’s worth noticing, and Kyung, while used to scrutiny and men gawking at him, feels vulnerable. “What’s your name?”

“Kyung. Yours?”

“Minhyuk. Can I have your number?”

Kyung hesitates for a split second. Guys are usually forward with him but he doesn’t know whether to refuse this time; there’s something about Minhyuk that gives him pause. “I thought you were going to ask me to sign a BDSM agreement.”

“Do I see like that kind of guy?”

“Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

Minhyuk begins eating and Kyung lets the silence wash over them while he finishes his coffee. The clock in the corner reads 7:04 and while he doesn’t have to be anywhere today he feels like he’s overstaying his welcome. 

“I should go,” Kyung says, pushing his chair back. “It’s Wednesday, right? You probably have work.”

“I put it off,” Minhyuk says. “I didn’t know what time you would wake up, or if you would steal any of my artwork if I wasn’t here. You don’t have to leave just yet.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to sell it.” Kyung stands, feeling a bit of a headrush as he does. He pulls out his phone, opens the calls app and hands it to Minhyuk. “Call your phone and you can add me.”

Minhyuk does, his brow furrowing a little like he’s not used to using technology, or he’s not very good at it. But he manages to call his own number and lets Kyung leave with an awkward goodbye at the door, looking far less self-conscious in just his boxer shorts than Kyung feels in broad daylight. Kyung tries not to think about the night before and what giving some guy he doesn’t know his number means and instead saves Minhyuk’s number in his phone as “Eyebrows”.

//

Jiho’s still asleep when Kyung makes it back to his apartment and so he shucks off his outfit and goes straight for the couch he’s claimed as his own, buried under the only things he could drag by himself on the bus over here from his and -- from Eunbi's apartment: his duvet and half his wardrobe, his novels, his collection of writing books. He guesses it’s nice of her that she’s letting him keep the rest of his stuff there until he finds his own apartment, as if that makes up for the way she ripped out his heart and shredded it. It never crossed his mind, lulled into false pretense by the way the softness of her voice and sweetness of her face made people think she would never be capable of leaving someone heartbroken and homeless right before they signed their renew lease agreement. 

His hangover, which had grown increasingly worse on the trip back to Jiho’s apartment, starts to gnaw a hole through his temples and make his body heavy with exhaustion, but his posterior cingulated cortex lit up with inspiration somewhere during the walk through Boramae Park and he’s itching for a pen to write it all down. 

He’s scribbled through four A4 sheets of paper by the time Jiho rises and comes into the living room, and by then Kyung’s burnt himself out and gratefully accepts the coffee Jiho hands him, both of them without saying a word.

//

It’s not that Jiho doesn’t worry about Kyung, and it’s not that he isn’t worrying about Kyung right now, especially with the partying and drinking and the fact that he has nowhere to live, but Kyung has always seemed to land on his feet pretty well, with and without Jiho’s help. There’s not much he can do, really, aside from let Kyung stay as long as he wants, and put up with him crawling into Jiho’s bed naked at three am, as if they’re fourteen again and having sleepovers. That’s probably what this feels like to Kyung: an extended sleepover. Jiho hands him coffee and watches as the poetic light drains out of his eyes and he collapses back into the sofa cushions.

“You look like you’ve had a bad night,” Jiho says, sipping his own coffee.

Kyung shrugs. “The usual, I guess, I don’t remember much.” He chews on the end of his pen, shuffles his pages, while Jiho thinks about one of the latest projects he’s working on, a logo for an airline company. “I met a guy. Gave him my number.”

“Oh,” Jiho says, “have you been out of the game that long that you’ve turned into someone who gives out their phone number to strangers?”

“I was in a relationship for four years, okay, I wasn’t dead.”

“You look dead now.”

“Not dead, hungover.”

“Same thing, really.”

Jiho motions for Kyung to move his feet off the only couch so he can sit down and Kyung does, reluctantly. He pulls the duvet over his head as Jiho unlocks his phone. Three messages from Seolhyun about her parents coming to visit, and one from Yukwon about going to his friend’s art exhibition, neither of which he has the capacity to think about before he’s had coffee. He watches Kyung burrow under the duvet and make a home for himself in there, which Jiho is tempted to do. He doesn’t have to be at work for another hour but the dread curling in his stomach keeps him rooted to the couch for the next forty five minutes, sipping his coffee intermittently, scrolling Twitter on his phone until he reaches yesterday’s tweets. He has his morning routine timed to the minute and waits until he absolutely has to move before he does, gets ready, and leaves the house at exactly the time he needs to, leaving Kyung still bundled on the couch nursing his hangover.

//

It turns into one of those days. His work has been piling up steadily because the boss has increased the workload and while he can finish the projects he’s working on in limited time if he doesn’t give much thought to them, he’s getting paid for quality, and he can’t let himself put his name on something inferior. So they take time, eat into his lunch break, and he leaves work increasingly later in the evening. On the drive home he gets a call from Seolhyun, and he briefly considers not answering before he clicks the button on the steering wheel.

“Honey,” he says, and she sighs.

“They don’t like any of the restaurants we picked. They’ve looked them all up online and apparently found terrible reviews, so we have to find somewhere else.”

“Why don’t they find a restaurant they like?”

“That would be too convenient. I swear, this is the last time I’m inviting them to Seoul until I’m married.”

It’s just an offhand comment but a weight settles in Jiho’s stomach at the thought. If he brought up what’s on his mind with Seolhyun he wouldn’t be the one meeting her at the end of the aisle, and he’s still in undecided about whether that’s a good thing. For her sake, or his.

“Don’t say that, they’re your parents.”

“Wait until you meet them before you start sucking up to them.”

Zico smiles despite the weight, Seolhyun’s casual humor easing his mood. It makes what he has to say that much harder.

“I have to go,” she says, “Choa’s trying to weigh in on the restaurant issue, and she knows Seoul better than me, so I trust her.”

Jiho’s been living in Seoul longer than either of them but he does, too, trusts Choa’s kind eyes and her taste in friends. She’s the reason he and Seolhyun met, and Jiho owes her a lot. They say bye at the same time, hang up at the same time, and it’s easy, loving Seolhyun, being in a relationship with her, even when her job takes her to different countries and Jiho misses sleeping at her apartment most days of the week and the smell of her hair as they stay in bed too late, the morning sun breaking through the curtains to find them curled around each other like question marks. It’s easy, and natural, and it makes what Jiho has to say, has to do, almost undoable.

When he gets home, Kyung’s in the same position on the couch as when Jiho left, still bundled up in the duvet. Strange noises emanate from underneath it, which sound like Kyung is either masturbating or crying, or maybe both. Jiho doesn’t have the energy to deal with any of that so he heads straight for his room, locking the door behind him.

As tired as he is, as practiced as his night time routine is, he can’t fall asleep, and ends up, as he does these days, scrolling through Instagram. He finds the video easily after his fingers type out Yukwon’s name of their own volition: Yukwon in the snow, striking different poses for his girlfriend, smiling and stoic and bashful in front of the camera. She tells him how good his poses are and his face lights up. Jiho wonders if that’s what he looks like when he talks to Seolhyun, if their love is as real, or if he’s faking it. Watching the video, he fights the urge to smile, and wonders about that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: semi public sex, handjobs, blowjobs, panic attacks

Kyung sleeps his hangover off and feels slightly less awful the next day. It’s a bookstore day so he gets to spend most of it reading on the sofa and ignoring the white noise that comes out of Jaehyo’s mouth as he spends forty minutes talking about his new diet where he doesn’t eat or drink anything for three days at time. It’s really working for him. He shows Kyung his abs, which is the highlight of Kyung’s day.

He’s still thinking about Eunbi, which he supposes is normal. They dated for four years, and lived together for two. It’s natural to want to reach inside his own chest and massage the hurt away, at least that’s what he tells himself. It’s natural to recommend _East of Eden_ to every customer that asks for a mindless romance. Jaehyo steers Kyung away from the third customer he does that to, but he also takes Kyung out for a drink after work, so he’s not mad.

“I had the paperwork in front of me,” Kyung says, surprising himself that it’s not a drunken slur, “I was ready to sign.”

“It must be rough,” Jaehyo says, nursing his second beer while Kyung’s on his sixth shot of soju. “I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted that long, so I don’t know what you’re going through.”

“And you know the worst thing,” Kyung says, “she had just been talking about how she wanted Other Eunbi to move into the spare room while she found a place of her own. If this was all a ruse to start dating her and become the Lesbian Eunbis, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Oh,” Jaehyo says, his brow furrowed, as if the thought would never have occurred to him. “Jiho says you’ve been out partying a lot.”

“Yeah, a bit. It’s okay though, I found a guy who might be the answer to all my problems. You never know, right?”

Jaehyo’s expression smooths out as he says, “Oh, he offered you a job!”, only to furrow once again when Kyung says, “No, he took me home. I was passed out and didn’t tell him where I live, it’s a long, drunken story.” Kyung’s been waving his hands around as he speaks and almost topples off his stool, grabs onto the bar to steady himself. 

“So, why is he the answer to your problems?”

“Uh,” Kyung says, signalling the bartender for another shot, “because he has a dick -- I could see the outline of it through his boxers, it’s pretty nice -- and a lot of money.”

“What does that have to do--” Jaehyo starts, before Kyung throws his hands up.

“I’m bisexual, dude!”

Jaehyo looks taken aback at Kyung’s outburst. “You don’t have to shout at me.” 

“You’re pretty dense, I didn’t think it would get through otherwise.”

“Or maybe you have trouble controlling your mouth as well as a bad love life.”

Kyung’s tempted to throw his drink in Jaehyo’s face but refrains from wasting the alcohol and acting like a cliche, drunk, American woman in a black and white movie. 

“Yukwon’s worried about Jiho, too. Says Jiho’s been avoiding him and not answering his texts.”

“What are you, the patron saint of other people’s love lives?” Kyung’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out.

“Well, actually, I do have things going on in my own life. I got into the Archaeology course I told you about--”

“Uh huh,” Kyung says, eyes glued to a text from Minhyuk. _You kind of left in a rush yesterday. Do you mind if we pick it up again? Maybe I could buy you breakfast, or coffee if you don’t eat breakfast._ Kyung reads it three times, twice as fast as he can, and once slowly to actually absorb the words before he replies.

“--and go to the Supe Valley, which is in Peru, and you would now know that if you were listening to me.”

“Yeah, digging up some mummified Aztec dicks, uh huh, I got that.”

Kyung stares at his phone for another minute before he taps out a reply. _Sure. I’m free on Saturday but I like to sleep in. I’ll come to your place around ten and we can take it from there._

_Looking forward to it_ , comes the reply, followed by a string of random emojis. When Kyung glances back up, Jaehyo’s still nursing the same beer and pouting. “I have a date,” Kyung says, beaming.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaehyo says.

//

It takes Kyung forty minutes to choose an outfit he deems worthy of making up for Tuesday night’s atrocity. He probably has been out of the game too long because he’s not sure what the right attire for the situation is, or really what the situation is, and ends up choosing a pair of black skinny jeans and a tight-fitting shirt that he’s been told on many occasions makes him look fuckable. The outfit is a safe bet even if that’s not where the morning is going, but. Kyung kind of hopes it is. It’s been awhile since he’s been with a guy and, as great as it was with Eunbi, sweet and fun just like she is, Kyung’s only been having one type of sex for four years, and now, since he doesn’t have to go to his grave having tried only two positions, he isn’t planning to. 

He can’t help thinking of her on the subway ride. He refrains from looking at the selfies of them on his phone, or stalking her on Instagram, but it’s a choice between that and focusing on the slight nervousness he feels about what is potentially his first first date since he was twenty. He goes with the nervousness. The subway ride is over too soon and he arrives at Minhyuk’s door only to wait a few minutes after he knocks, rocking back on his heels, humming to himself. When Minhyuk opens the door as Kyung’s about to compose a text letting him know he’s here, he’s wet and naked save for a towel around his waist, looking flushed from what Kyung assumes is the shower he was just having. 

“Hi,” Kyung says, cracking a smirk. “I can’t believe I got your clothes off and we haven’t even had our first date yet.”

Minhyuk laughs and steps aside. “You’re early. I didn’t expect you until ten.”

“No way. That’s impossible. You’re late.”

“Check your phone, it’s only nine-thirty.”

Kyung does, and scoffs. “I’ve never been early for anything in my life. You’re witness to this incredible moment. You should take a picture for posterity.”

“Can I put some clothes on first?”

“Only if you must.”

Minhyuk walks back through the apartment and Kyung stares at his shoulders as he follows him into the living room, taking a seat when Minhyuk motions to the couch Kyung fell off the other morning.

“Hello, old friend,” Kyung says as he smooths his hands over the leather.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

Kyung waves him off and turns his attention to the artwork decorating the walls. He doesn’t know much about art aside from what Jiho used to tell him when he was in university, but it’s nice. Colorful. Weird. He especially likes the painting of the tiger made out of bric-a-brac that’s set in the style of a folk painting. He gets back up on his feet to admire the rest of the paintings and it isn’t long before Minhyuk comes back out, fully dressed this time, his hair slicked back, smelling like expensive cologne. He’s wearing suspenders and pair of expensive-looking chinos, and somehow manages to pull it off.

“These are nice,” Kyung says, “I can see why you were worried about me stealing them. They must have cost something.”

Minhyuk comes to stand beside him, and Kyung can feel the warmth emanating from him, is suddenly hyper-aware of his presence and how close they are. “Oh, not really. It’s more sentimental value than anything. Ready to go?”

Kyung waits a beat before nodding, and follows him and his shoulders out of the apartment.

//

“I just want you to know,” Minhyuk says, during a lull in the conversation that followed Kyung’s confession that he used to juggle in middle school, “that I don’t go to Gudeongi often.” Kyung can’t remember the name of the restaurant they’re in, although he knows it’s written across the back wall he scanned every time Minhyuk glanced up to catch Kyung staring at him.

“Okay,” Kyung says, not bothering to add that he doesn’t either. He puts his chopsticks down and sits back in his seat, sated. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m one of those men who just hooks up with random guys at clubs--”

“I don’t,” Kyung says. “But I am. Well, I used to be. I was in a relationship for a long time, but before that, I was one of those guys.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, I’m just not like that.” Minhyuk seems very matter-of-fact in a way that means he’s probably hiding something, but Kyung can’t get a read on whether he is. He has such a calm, aesthetically pleasing face and big ears and Kyung is definitely attracted to him, but whether it’s genuine or a side effect of not being in a relationship anymore is up for debate.

“And it’s important for you that I know you’re an upstanding and responsible citizen? Or you just want to project an image to the world that is polished and acceptable?”

Minhyuk smirks. “Sure. Whatever works.”

“I bet I can figure you out by the end of the day.” Kyung isn’t always that good at reading others, and Minhyuk seems like a challenge to even the most intuitive of people. “You like me,” Kyung guesses, and Minhyuk makes a face like he’s trying keep his smile in check. “You want to take me back to your place.” Minhyuk shrugs. “You _really_ want to take me back to your place.” 

Minhyuk leans forward, places his hand on Kyung’s knee under the table. Kyung feels a rush of attraction toward him at the contact. “Would that be so bad?” Kyung watches the minute changes in his expression with curiosity, the way his eyebrows lift slightly and his pupils dilate and Kyung knows if Minhyuk’s not at least half-hard yet he could get him there. 

“Are we going to be able to wait until we get back to yours,” Kyung says, “or should we just fuck in the bathroom?”

Minhyuk laughs, says, “Did you bring anything?” and Kyung fishes his wallet out of his pocket and waves it.

“I’m always prepared.”

“That’s pretty hot,” Minhyuk says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversations ebbs again for another minute, but this time it’s charged. Kyung knows how they must look to the other people here, staring heatedly at each other in a half-full restaurant, but the only person he’s trying to impress currently has his hand on Kyung’s leg.

“Let’s see if we can reduce the health code rating of this place,” Minhyuk says, and Kyung all but drags him the twenty feet into the bathroom with a hand on his arm, pushes Minhyuk up against the door to lock it behind them. He pauses the frantic rush of movement for a moment just to look at Minhyuk, just to figure out in a split second if this is something he really wants to do. Minhyuk looks back at him, bites his lip, says, “If this is too fast for you,” and it’s exactly what Kyung needs to lean forward and kiss him. 

It’s a good kiss. Minhyuk opens his mouth just the right amount, uses just enough tongue that for a moment Kyung forgets they’re not about to fuck in a restaurant bathroom on their first date. He relaxes into it, into the feeling of the hands on his hips, presses his body into Minhyuk’s. It wasn’t like this with Eunbi, at least not in the last couple of years. In the beginning they’d sneak off to make out in quiet corners, having sex in her bed in her parents’ house while they made dinner downstairs, but it was never this rushed, never this frantic. But -- he can’t think about her right now. Minhyuk’s hands cup his ass as he grinds against Kyung, and Kyung can feel how hard he is, already there himself and straining against his jeans. He runs his hands up Minhyuk’s chest, snaps his suspenders just because he can, and Minhyuk laughs, squeezes Kyung’s hips.

“That’s not very nice,” Minhyuk says, his voice low, heavy.

“Who says I’m nice?” Kyung kisses him again, losing himself in the way Minhyuk curls his tongue and sucks on Kyung’s lower lip; he kisses like he means it, and it’s all Kyung can do just to keep up with him. Kyung runs his hands down Minhyuk’s stomach and pauses at his waistline. “Can I?” he says, curling his fingers underneath it, and Minhyuk nods, urging Kyung on by sliding his own hands beneath Kyung’s shirt. Just the touch is enough to get Kyung going, and he pops the button on Minhyuk’s chinos, unzips them enough to get a hand in and wrap a it around him. Minhyuk digs his fingers into Kyung’s hips as Kyung gets a feel of him and starts to stroke. He feels good in Kyung’s hand, hefty and thick.

“Let me see you,” Minhyuk says, pressing his thumbs into the pressure points of Kyung’s hips, just enough to remind him that he’s there.

“I’m kinda busy here,” Kyung says, squeezing hard enough that Minhyuk pitches his hips forward involuntarily. He brings Minhyuk’s dick out of his pants, getting a good look at him, at how he purples at the head, at the vein on the underside, and starts to stroke in earnest. Minhyuk lifts Kyung’s chin up with a hand and kisses him again, deeply and leisurely, a contrast to the way Kyung’s working his dick, moaning when Kyung thumbs over the head and smears the precome there. “How do you want it?”

“Fast,” Minhyuk says, muttering into Kyung’s mouth, chasing him, “like that, yeah, that’s good.” Kyung breaks off to spit into his palm before he gets back into it, keeps up the pace but varies his technique, twisting on the upstroke, thumbing over the corona, and it’s not long before Minhyuk’s coming. Kyung cups his other hand under Minhyuk’s dick to catch as much as he can until it stops and Minhyuk leans back against the door. Kyung’s tempted to lick it up but he refrains, grabs some paper towel instead. Minhyuk graciously waits for him to clean up before he walks Kyung back until he hits the stall divider, dropping to his knees. 

Minhyuk doesn’t waste any time. He pops the button and unzips Kyung’s jeans easily and has Kyung’s dick out a split second later, fitting his lips over the head without any warning. Kyung lets out a noise that’s halfway between a whine and a moan and reverberates off the tiles back to him before he slaps a hand over his own mouth. The wet heat of Minhyuk’s mouth is good, so good, even better when he sinks down to the base of Kyung’s cock and starts to bob his head, creating the perfect amount of suction with his lips. Kyung hits his head on the stall divider and doesn’t notice for several seconds, too lost in what Minhyuk’s doing to him. He cards his hands through Minhyuk’s hair and holds on as Minhyuk sucks him down, enthusiastically enough that Kyung knows he’s enjoying himself, too. It really wasn’t like this with Eunbi. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy it, but it wasn’t her favorite thing to do, and -- Minhyuk cups Kyung’s balls, fondling them, stroking his perineum, and Kyung’s coming, spilling into Minhyuk’s mouth and waiting tongue. 

Kyung strokes Minhyuk’s cheek as Minhyuk drinks the rest of him down, swallowing like he enjoys it, but as soon as the high from Kyung’s orgasm fades he’s left with a sick feeling in his stomach. It would be at this point that he closes his laptop and rolls over, except Minhyuk is a real person who Kyung just roped into doing something as stupid as having sex in a restaurant bathroom because Kyung was sad over his ex. He pushes Minhyuk away, can’t even look at him, and Minhyuk stands, reaches for him.

“I can’t,” Kyung says, ducking out of the way. His heart is pounding in his ears and he does his pants up with shaking fingers. “We shouldn’t have done this, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

He unlocks the door and tears it open, shaking legs carrying him out of the bathroom, his blurred vision making him almost crash into a table. When he makes it outside he heaves deep breaths, leans over into the garden in case he’s about to be sick before he slumps onto the ground against the outside of the building, head between his knees.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw discussions of infidelity, panic attacks (picks up where last chapter left off)
> 
> this is a jiho heavy chapter, please enjoy

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and thumbs to Jiho’s number, and all the while it rings his breathing sounds like a broken down woodchipper clinging to life. He puts Jiho on speaker and drops his phone in his lap.

“Hello,” Jiho says, sounding like he’s half asleep. Kyung can’t answer, still gasping for breath, and Jiho says, “Kyung? What’s going on, talk to me.”

It takes another minute for Kyung to be able to speak, and all he can manage is, “Having a panic attack.”

“Okay,” Jiho says, sounding fully awake now, “listen to me. I’m here with you. Just keep breathing. Where are you?”

“At a restaurant. Outside.”

“Tell me what you can see.”

“Cars. People. I’m in a garden.”

“Keep breathing. How’s the heart rate?”

“Fast. Pounding. Like a good fuck.”

Jiho laughs, says, “You can make jokes so I think you’re going to be okay.”

Kyung’s still shaking but after another few minutes his breathing starts to return to normal. “I almost started crying.”

“That hasn’t happened in a while. Do you know what brought it on?”

“Uh, performance anxiety? I was having sex with a guy.” Kyung's toying with his shoelace when Minhyuk walks past him several paces and stops once he spots Kyung in the garden. 

“Good for you. Don’t give me any details.”

“What about you?” Kyung says. He makes eye contact with Minhyuk but doesn’t say or do anything, and Minhyuk stands there awkwardly before he perches next to him on the garden ledge. Kyung’s trampled the flowers but he doesn’t really care. “Yukwon says you’ve been avoiding him.”

It’s cute how Jiho immediately perks up at the mention of Yukwon’s name. “You talked to Yukwon?”

“I talked to Jaehyo who talked to Yukwon. I take it you haven’t told Seolhyun.”

Jiho’s sigh carries through the phone. “I feel like I’m lying to her.” Kyung doesn’t envy Jiho’s situation, but he doesn’t see it as a big a deal as Jiho’s making it out to be. 

“Not telling someone something isn’t the same as lying to them.” If Minhyuk disagrees, he doesn’t indicate it. He’s staring off at some point across the street, seemingly at the line of students outside the Starbucks. 

“Kyung, you are a pathological liar, I’m not going to listen to you.” Kyung feels the need to defend himself in front of Minhyuk, who’s probably not listening out of courtesy anyway, before Jiho continues. “I don’t know how to tell my girlfriend I’m in love with someone else.”

“Maybe she’ll break up with you, and you won’t have to,” Kyung says. 

“Thanks,” Jiho says, not sounding at all thankful and more like he’s on the verge of hanging up on Kyung. “Really, thanks for the pep talk, I’m so glad I have your opinion.”

“Anytime. I have to go.”

“Sure, bye,” Jiho says, and ends the call. 

Minhyuk turns to look at him, his expression calm, not at all judgemental or hurt like Kyung was expecting. 

“I’m not a pathological liar, by the way.”

“That’s something a pathological liar would say.” Minhyuk says it with a smile, so he’s not mad. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyung starts, before Minhyuk puts a hand on his knee. There’s no sexual intent behind it this time; it’s a gesture of comfort. His hands are lovely. “I feel like I used you--”

“Kyung,” Minhyuk says, like he’s explaining something to a small child, “I wanted to. You didn’t force me. There’s nothing for you to feel bad about.”

Kyung nods in understanding, although it doesn’t make him feel any better. “I guess I’m still not over my ex.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me.” 

“Hmm,” Kyung says, turning to look at him. “What are you asking for?”

“Company?”

They hold eye contact long enough that Kyung thinks they’re going to kiss again, but there are people walking past, and he still feels like a mess. He’s calmed down, though, through a combination of time and Jiho, but it usually takes him a while to get back to normal after a panic attack. Minhyuk glances down at his hand on Kyung’s knee and the way his eyelashes fan out across his cheeks makes Kyung’s heart skip a beat. 

Minhyuk squeezes in a gesture of reassurance. “Let’s take a walk.”

Kyung side-eyes him. “Really?”

“I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.”

“Oh.” 

He doesn’t move for another minute of relaxed silence while Kyung counts his heartbeats and the line at the Starbucks grows longer. Minhyuk stands and holds his hands out for Kyung to pull himself up with, and they’re warm and soft when Kyung takes them.

//

Jiho eases the door open slowly, never sure when he comes over if Seolhyun’s cat is in the mood to claw his eyes out, to find Seolhyun curled into a question mark on her bed, eyes shut and brow furrowed. 

“Hey, babe,” Jiho says softly, and she opens her eyes, relief flooding over her expression. “I got it.”

Seolhyun manages to sit up against the bed head while Jiho drops his grocery bag on the desk and starts pulling things out of it. “That’s for you,” he says, handing her a packet of burupen and a bottle of iced tea, which she takes immediately, “and the ice cream is for later.”

“The ice cream is for now,” she corrects, and Jiho hands it over without argument. 

“Do you want a spoon with that or are you going to eat it with your hands?”

“I could just leave it to melt and drink it like a milkshake,” she says. He feels bad that he didn’t get here sooner and makes it up to her by grabbing a couple spoons from the kitchen. When he gets back Myungie is kneading the doona at the foot of the bed and thankfully doesn’t take a swipe at Jiho as he passes. Seolhyun moves over to let him slide in behind her on the bed, sighs when he pulls her close gently with an arm around her belly until they’re slotted together and her breathing evens out. 

“Feeling better?”

She hums softly, and her expression smooths over, from the painkillers or Jiho, he doesn’t know. They lie there together in comfortable silence for several minutes until their breathing syncs and Jiho feels like he’s going to fall asleep.

“Jimin’s getting married,” Seolhyun says. “Did you see?”

“I don’t follow your friends. But that’s great.”

“I follow _your_ friends. They only post about food and art, except for Kyung who posts full-body selcas every time he goes out but only has three outfits.” Her voice is lovely to listen to. In university she would send him voice messages, notes about her day and what classes she was taking and how much she hated her lecturers, anything that crossed her mind at the time, and, at night, Jiho would play them on repeat until he fell asleep, soothed by her voice. Sometimes she would record herself singing, and Jiho would listen to her songs while he worked on his assignments. He did some of his best art back then, inspired by Seolhyun’s voice. 

“But you like my friends. You met most of them in university.”

“Kyung has a certain roguish charm, and Yukwon’s nice.”

“Hoseob told me you two almost dated.”

“If only,” Seolhyun says, “unfortunately I fell for you instead.”

“I’m sorry,” Jiho says, and Seolhyun laughs and squeezes his arm tighter around her body. “When’s the wedding?”

“Knowing Jimin not for another eight years.”

The conversation lulls again long enough for Jiho to actually fall asleep, his face buried in Seolhyun’s hair, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

//

When he gets home later that night he feels a bit wired after sleeping so much at Seolhyun’s. It’s mixed with guilt at staying too long and guilt at leaving so soon, but luckily Kyung is still awake, and having a great time if the empty soju bottles scattered around the living room and laughter coming from under the blankets on the couch are any indication. Jiho rips the blankets off him and closes his laptop.

“Hey,” Kyung says, his laughter dying, then, “You’ll never guess who I saw today.”

“We’re going out. I’m getting drunk. You can do what you want but it has to be in my vicinity.”

“You’re buying,” Kyung counters immediately, and Jiho shrugs.

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

//

“Lee Taeil,” Kyung says, and Jiho feels his eyes widen in shock. 

“What? Where?” He has to shout over the music to hear himself. Kyung seems to take great pleasure in Jiho’s excitement, so he reigns it in.

“I knew you’d like that. Starbucks in Sogong. He was signing albums.”

Jiho doesn’t ask why Kyung didn’t tell him, although Kyung’s probably expecting him to, because he has that expression on his face he wears when he thinks Jiho’s an easy target. Jiho ignores it. “What happened after your panic attack?”

“Oh,” Kyung says, making an expression like he’s trying not to smile. “We went for a walk. I’ve never noticed how many people are out on a Saturday morning.”

“Don’t you usually work at a cafe on Saturdays?”

“I get in there at six, they don’t let me out until two. I haven’t seen the waking world in years.”

Jiho snorts and downs number two of the four shots the bartender lined up in front of him. At least he gets the weekends off. Kyung’s busting it working four jobs, five, six or seven days a week. Jiho may hate his job sometimes, especially the direction of churning out mass produced garbage the company is going in, but at least it has security and he gets paid overtime. Kyung doesn’t even get lunch most days, which is why he eats everything in the fridge when he gets home, leaves some money on the table for Jiho to buy groceries, and passes out on the couch. It’s why Jiho’s letting him stay as long as he wants. Kyung will find an apartment when he has time. Or he won’t, and he’ll be sleeping on Jiho’s couch until he finds someone else to shack up with for four years, or until he dies. 

Jiho watches Kyung make his way to the dance floor and immediately get hit on by three guys, and he takes another shot.

//

The longer Jiho avoids it, the bigger the problem grows. Yukwon messages him a couple more times, innocuous messages that are funny and cute and make Jiho want to kiss him even more, which makes him feel even more guilty about still being in a relationship with Seolhyun. He knows he should break up with her, but the thought of it, of not being able to kiss her anymore, or touch her hair, or trip over her clothes in the morning because she’s left them all over the floor and he’s not awake enough to see where he’s going, makes him even sadder than he is about being in love with someone he’s not in a relationship with. He didn’t know it was possible to be in love with two people at once, or that it would be this hard. 

He finally relents and answers Yukwon’s message about drinks after work, not because it’s a good idea, but because Jiho can’t stand Yukwon thinking he doesn’t like him, and he spends the last three hours of the day with his head buried in his work, ignoring all the emails and other messages he gets until his phone vibrates off the desk. 

The place Yukwon wants to meet him at is some tragically hip uni bar downtown that Jiho feels too old for even though he’s probably the target demographic, and it’s straight enough that Jiho feels uncomfortable trying anything, which in this case is a good thing. It’s still too early for anyone to be out so he gets his pick of the sofas. Expensive draft beer in hand, he chooses the only most likely to swallow him whole. 

Yukwon doesn’t keep him waiting long. It’s creepy and sad and weird, but as soon as he walks in the bar, Jiho can tell he’s there, he gets a feeling, and his head snaps up when Yukwon calls his name. He smiles when Jiho catches his eye, that bright infectious smile that shows most of his teeth, and Jiho stands up to greet him.

“Always the corner of the bar,” Yukwon says. He goes in for a hug, has to reach up to get a hand around Jiho’s shoulder, and Jiho tries not to melt into it. 

“I like to see everything.”

“You’d make a very attentive bodyguard,” Yukwon says. He pulls back, still smiling. “I should have hired you instead of Gunho.”

Jiho tries to enjoy the fact that Yukwon is here, how great it is to see him after dodging his messages, not the pit growing in his stomach. “Well, I don’t know how to defend anyone, but I would take a bullet for you, if that counts for anything.”

“Jiho,” Yukwon says as he takes a seat and motions for Jiho to do the same, “I’m touched. Really.” It must be an actor thing. Yukwon always sits first and acts like the gracious host while he waits for everyone else in the room. They end up sitting squashed together on a sofa that can fit at least three people comfortably, because neither of them have any concept of personal space, and Jiho -- he’s not lonely, not when he has Seolhyun, but he feels like it when Yukwon’s around. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jiho can’t help the way his heartbeat spikes and takes a sip of his beer to cover what might have happened to his expression. “Yeah?”

“A friend of mine is opening a gallery in two weeks. I know you said you didn’t want to before, but if you do now, you can always submit something. If you’ve changed your mind.” It sounds a little rehearsed, as if he expected Jiho to say no again but persisted anyway. “Even something finished, you don’t have to start a new piece.”

“Is your friend really that desperate for artists?”

“Actually, I had to beg him to consider keeping a place open. And that’s after all the favors I’ve done him. But no pressure.”

Jiho covers his grimace with another sip of beer. “I’ll have to think about it, okay? Nothing I have is really good enough to sell and I don’t have time to start anything new. What are you smiling about?”

“That’s better than the straight-up ‘no’ you gave me last time.” 

“You’re very persistent.”

Yukwon laughs at that, and it makes Jiho feel very warm and very foolish. It’s hard not to love Yukwon when his whole face lights up like that. “I know talent when I see it, and I hate to see it squandered. Sunhye loved the poster mock up you did, and she told me she’s using it. It’s much better than the shit the other artist did. Between you and me, she’ll probably come to you again, she’s that impressed.”

Jiho can feel himself flush and hopes it doesn’t show under the bar’s low lighting. “Listen, if I can’t mock up a movie poster, I’m not much of a graphic designer.”

“Man,” Yukwon says, and Jiho can feel his cheeks flame at the admiration in Yukwon’s voice, “you’re an artist.” Yukwon leans into him, eyes crinkling at the corners. He smells like a mix of the traces of his expensive aftershave clinging to his skin and old sweat. “You know, I’m really glad I met you.” 

Jiho can’t stop the groan that comes out of his throat and he leans away, puts his beer down to hang his head in his hands. It suddenly tastes awful, clogging the back of his throat. “Yukwon, I have a girlfriend.”

“I know,” Yukwon says, slowly, “so do I.”

“Then stop telling me that shit. You know it just makes it harder for me.”

Yukwon draws him back against the couch with a hand on his arm, a light touch that Jiho feels like an electric shock even through his sleeve. “I’m not about to break you and Seolhyun up, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel how I feel, or that you don’t mean that much to me.”

Jiho doesn’t know how Yukwon gets away with it, how he’s so guilt-free and open about his feelings when Jiho’s are eating him up inside. He doesn’t ask how Sunhye could forgive Yukwon when he’s too busy thinking about how Seolhyun would forgive him if he placed a hand on Yukwon’s jaw right now, if she even would forgive him for leaning over and kissing him, if she would ever look at him again if he sucked Yukwon’s bottom lip into his mouth. 

Yukwon laces their fingers together and Jiho lets his go lax, but doesn’t pull away. It’s the only protection he has against Yukwon: doing nothing. If he’s not strong enough to say no, to push Yukwon away, then at least he isn’t doing it. At least he didn’t start it.

“I need to go,” Jiho says, but he doesn’t move.

“I know,” Yukwon says. He lets go of Jiho’s hand, finally. “I shouldn’t put you in this position, I’m sorry.”

Jiho can’t look at him right now, the pit twisting in his stomach, making him feel sick. He stands up abruptly, his coat swishing around him and he pulls it tight against his body like a shield. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, finally able to look Yukwon in the eye, “I want it, too.” With that, he leaves Yukwon there, by himself, probably not feeling half as bad as Jiho does.


	4. Chapter 4

“Everyone knows: this happened  
because it could only happen this way.  
In the afternoon the sun is squeezing out rays with all its might;  
the past, taking backward steps, goes over the apartment railing  
and falls. The future soon follows from behind.  
The present is merely the days of flowers. These days  
are sad because they are a time of blooming and fading.”

Kyung finishes reading and looks around to his class of fifteen, some of which are rapt in the words, most staring out the windows at the cloudless sky, others staring at the screens which might but probably don’t have the poem on them. “So, what do you notice about this poem from the first reading?”

He catches Bokjoo’s eye and she points to herself. “Me?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Well, it’s quotidian. Shim emphasises the everyday sublime, while also pointing out the futileness of it all, the uncertainty.”

Kyung nods, glancing around. “What does everyone think of the imagery of paths, silence and shadows?”

“It’s like the Moon poem we read before. ‘Bare Foot’,” Seungjae pipes up, never one to be outdone by Bokjoo. Their rivalry is petty and adorable, and Kyung’s been guilty of fanning the flames of it once or twice in class.

“Go on,” Kyung says.

“The imagery is connected, the sense of sorrow--”

“Yes, they both use the word sorrow,” Moyeon says. “But Shim seems lost in the face of it, whereas Moon seems to have figured out how to live with it.”

“Is there a relevance to the sorrow of the everyday?”

“I think it’s about capitalism,” Hyekyo says, lazily chewing on the end of a pencil. “He can’t deal with living in such a capitalist society, so he’s sad.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with the inevitability of capitalism that we’re facing right now, and a push from the West in terms of ideals and values?”

Bokjoo snorts. It sounds incongruous coming from such a tiny and delicate-looking girl, but she doesn’t seem embarrassed. “Absolutely. I think he’s saying, ‘we’re all fucked now, might as well give up’.”

The class, including Kyung, laughs at that.

“Very astute. Unfortunately, we’ll have to leave it there and pick up next week. Just email me any questions about the next assignment, which, I don’t have to remind you, is due next week. But you all remember that and have already finished it.”

The class files out and Kyung waits for them by the door, catching the ‘byes’ and the ‘Hasta la Pasta’ Bokjoo throws his way. He’s got another class in six hours and he’s tempted to go home and sleep in between then but he still has to write next week’s lesson plans and grade assignments so he resigns himself to the watered-down coffee in the staff room and gets to work. 

He’s pretty deep in it half an hour later when he gets a message from Minhyuk. He almost doesn’t look at it, still trying to condition himself out of grabbing for his phone every time it buzzes, and when he does he regrets it.

_I can’t stop thinking about the other day. I’m trying to get my reports done but all I can think about is the taste of you._

Kyung can’t help glancing around his cubicle to make sure no one’s looking over his shoulder before he replies. _i’m taking that as a compliment_

_You really should, you taste amazing._

The next message comes a few seconds later.

_What are you up to right now?_

Realistically, when he’s thinking with his head, he knows he doesn’t get paid to sext while he’s at work, but this is one of his only jobs he can even use his phone. It gets the better of him.

_not a whole lot, what do you have in mind?_

_Come to my work, I’ll show you around my office._

That’s a honey trap if Kyung’s ever heard one, but he’s curious, and a bit horny, and his class doesn’t start for another five and a half hours. It’s dumb of him to blow off work to hang out with a hook up, but he knows himself, and it was never going to be any other way.

 _I’ll bring sandwiches_ , he messages back.

//

Minhyuk’s work place is just as fancy as Kyung imagined when Kyung looked up the direction to the part of town it’s in. It’s a squat, jet-black little building in a sea of beige offices that looks like it was designed by exactly the kind of people who are using it. He only has to walk past reception and up one flight of stairs to the only other floor, and Minhyuk’s office is the one on the left. 

“You know,” Kyung says as he pushes the door open further and lets himself in, “I’ve only been here eight seconds and have already seen everything. I’m starting to think you just brought me around for sex.”

Minhyuk was leaning against his desk but stands as Kyung comes in, and Kyung immediately stops, thinking Minhyuk is going to come forward and kiss him hello. In a moment of panic, Kyung pushes the bag of food into his chest and steps back, a paragon of awkwardness. 

“You actually brought food,” Minhyuk says. He’s dressed in a suit minus the jacket hanging on the coat rack near his desk, his sleeves of his button-down rolled up his forearms. 

“Yeah, well, you bought breakfast the other day. I figured if I brought food here it would be less likely to turn into a repeat of last time.”

Minhyuk motions to the chair in front of his desk and Kyung sits, glancing around the office as he does. The art on the walls is a different style to the ones in Minhyuk’s home, and there are photos of buildings and structures that Kyung assumes he designed. 

“This is like a real-ass job,” Kyung says. Everything in the room reeks of money. Even the chair he’s sitting on is more comfortable than anything he’s ever sat on, soft leather that doesn’t squeak under his ass as he moves. 

“That’s what they keep telling me,” Minhyuk says. He always has a glint of humor in his eyes, and thankfully Kyung’s awkward entrance didn’t diminish it. “You never told me what you do.”

“Well, today I was teaching a bunch of university students how to analyse 20th Century poetry.” 

“That sounds like a real job.”

“Doesn’t come with many perks.” Kyung flicks a triangular spinning thing on Minhyuk’s desk, making it spin faster, aware of Minhyuk’s eyes on him. When he glances up, Minhyuk’s looking at him like he’s something to be curious about and it freaks Kyung out. Usually from guys there’s a lot more lust written on their faces, and Kyung knows how to deal with that. He’s out of his depth with Minhyuk. “Unless you count wading through thirty five essays that barely have a grasp on post-modern poetry after a semester teaching it.”

“I failed both my poetry courses in university, so I would be one of those essays.”

“Yes, you’d be the bane of my life.”

“Sorry to put you through so much.”

Kyung starts digging through the bag of food where Minhyuk’s dropped it on the desk and pulls out two massive sandwiches with a flourish. Minhyuk takes his, but doesn’t seem too excited about it, so Kyung tries hyping them up. “These are the best sandwiches in Seoul. No, probably all of Korea. Actually, the best sandwiches I’ve had anywhere.”

“You’ve travelled a lot?” Minhyuk asks.

Kyung doesn’t waste any time in laying into his sandwich, while Minhyuk slowly unwraps it, not quite wrinkling his nose, but almost. Kyung isn’t bothered. If Minhyuk doesn’t want to eat it, Kyung will gladly take up the challenge.

“A bit. I lived in New Zealand for a while,” Kyung says through a mouthful of food.

“What did you eat over there?”

“Meat pies, mostly.”

Minhyuk finally takes a bite of his sandwich, looking studious. Kyung watches him in amusement as he seems to catalogue all the tastes with a serious expression, as if he’s forcing himself to get through it. It’s the first time Kyung’s seen him with that kind of expression, and he’s intrigued. He’s usually one to sink his teeth into something and wring all possible amusement out of it, and Minhyuk is giving him plenty of material. 

“Having fun?”

Minhyuk glances up like he’s been caught in the middle of shoplifting, his eyes wide and startled like a deer. “I don’t usually eat Western food.”

Kyung just gives him a look which is as disbelieving as Minhyuk must take it to be.

“It’s full of fat, it tastes bad, and it’s expensive.”

“Not where I shop,” Kyung counters. “Well, the fat part, yes. But that’s what makes it taste so good.”

Minhyuk’s only taken a few bites before he puts the sandwich back down. “I can’t eat this much bread.”

Kyung immediately reaches for it, having already finished his own. “Pathetic. Can’t even finish a sandwich. I can’t believe I had sex with you.” That brings back the humor to Minhyuk’s expression, and Kyung shakes his head. Despite his recently broken-up with heart, he’s becoming horribly endeared to Minhyuk. “You have hot sauce on your face, by the way.”

//

These days, Jiho gets home from work exhausted after the long day, only to spend hours lying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, falling asleep at two or three in the morning after a restless night. What Yukwon offer him, a place in an actual gallery, seems too good to be true. Yukwon would never lie to him, but Jiho had given up on his dream of becoming a professional artist halfway through his degree when he’d transferred from Kyoto to come back home, and it still feels like it’s out of his reach, like it’s not a life he can lead.

He gets up at one in the morning, still exhausted but fueled by creative desire, goes into the spare room and pulls out an empty canvas. It’s too late to do more than sketch his vision with a pencil, but once he’s done he goes back into his bedroom and turns his desktop on, pulling out his tablet. The rush of energy that hits him once he starts drawing spurs him on until the sun starts to rise, and he’ll pay for it later, falling asleep at his desk in the middle of the day for twenty minutes until his boss wakes him up, but for now he’s satisfied.

//

The next night he’s just about to fall asleep on the couch as soon as he steps in the door when his phone buzzes with a message from Seolhyun.

_I miss you too much, I’m coming over._

Jiho smiles at his phone but sits down on the couch anyway. Kyung’s out, probably at the radio station or Professor Bae's workshop, so he gets the couch to himself. It unfortunately smells like Kyung now, but Jiho supposes he has to learn to make sacrifices when it comes to the people he loves. Working those hours means he hasn’t seen Seolhyun as much as they’d both like, and it’s touching that she wants to make time for him when they’re both so busy. He scrolls through the rest of his messages but he falls asleep within minutes, waking up half an hour later when he hears Seolhyun moving around in the kitchen. He knows it’s her, he can feel her lipstick mark on his cheek.

She’s wearing knee socks and an oversized sweater that hangs almost to her knees, leaving the rest of it up to the imagination, and Jiho stands in the doorway of the kitchen watching her arrange the food on two plates until she glances up and catches sight of him.

“Good morning,” she says.

He comes up behind her, pushing her hair off her shoulder and laying a kiss at the juncture of her neck. She sighs, a little puff of air that makes something in his chest tighten with an emotion that even after three years of dating hasn’t waned. This is what it’s like being in love with someone, he reminds himself. This is what it’s supposed to be. Not secretive and conflicting, not pining glances across a room full of celebrities, trying not to get papped. This, homely and domestic and comforting, an old sweater and a pot of tea.

She turns around and pulls him in for a kiss, a hand on the back of his neck, her lips soft and her tongue plush when it meets Jiho’s lips. He opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, pulling her in with an arm around her waist. He touches her cheek with the hand not curled around her hip, strokes over the softness of her skin and the jut of her jaw line as they kiss. They get a bit caught up, Jiho leaning her back over the counter, Seolhyun inching a hand up his thigh until she cups him through his pants.

“Yeah?” Jiho pulls back to say, and Seolhyun nods, smirking, says, “yeah.”

Jiho isn’t as strong as he used to be when he actually had time to go to the gym, but he can still pick Seolhyun up and put her on the bench top, pushing his way in between her knees, sliding his hands up her thighs. He reaches between them and feels the wetness of her through her panties, which are lace and scrunch as he pulls them off, careful not to pull her socks down with them, and shoves them in his back pocket. He gets back to her thighs, feeling the fresh-shaved skin, curling his hands around them, and she leans back on her hands, offering herself up. The smell of her sex in the air makes Jiho’s heart beat faster and his dick pay attention. He doesn’t need any urging to drop to his knees, to thumb apart the lips of her cunt, to lick over her clit and feel her thighs clench around his shoulders.

“We should get to the couch, so you can sit on my face.” He licks over her again and she gasps. He loves the noises she makes, whines and moans that show him how much she likes what he’s doing, and that, coupled with the taste and feel of her, gets him off every time.

“No, this is good,” she says, carding a hand through his hair to encourage him. He pushes his tongue into her wet heat, fitting his mouth over her, her second _joha_ more drawn out, breathier. She hooks her legs over his shoulders and digs her foot into his back, and he takes the initiative to wrap his arms around her thighs and stand until she lies back on the counter, easier now for him to lean over to eat her out. The taste of her fills Jiho’s mouth, makes him hungry at the same time it sates him in a way no amount of food or alcohol can. 

He’s messy about it, alternating licking stripes between her lips and pushing his tongue into her, burying his nose in her pubic hair, her juices dripping down his chin. She shudders around his tongue, gasping out loud as she comes, and he’s hard enough that it hurts, his dick trapped in the leg of his pants, aching for release. He keeps licking into her until she pushes him back with a foot on his shoulder, and he meets her smile with one of his own. She’s rosy and flushed and he feels proud of himself that he can make her feel like that. 

“Was it good?” he asks, leaning over her on his elbows. 

“It is every time,” she says, stroking his cheek, leaning up to kiss him. Seolhyun reaches down to unzip him and gets a hand around him, practiced and easy, pulling his cock out of his pants. The warmth of her hand makes up for the shock of cool air on his heated skin, and as he slides her back on the counter towards him by her hips she guides him into the hot clutch of her cunt, letting him take over and thrust until he’s fully seated. She feels good, really good, and they haven’t had much time to be together over the past few weeks, and he’s missed this. He’s missed her. 

Jiho lifts her hips up off the counter and Seolhyun wraps her legs around him, loosely enough that he can thrust into her, pulling out just to push back in until he gets a rhythm going that has her gasping when he hits the sensitive spot inside her again and again. With one hand under her back to keep her hips elevated, he pushes the other under her sweater, smoothing over the plane of her stomach and chest, finding her breast and squeezing. Her hand comes up to join his, and he can tell by the way her face scrunches up she’s close to coming again, so he keeps up the pace, dicking into her with these short, sharp thrusts, holding off coming until she reaches down to rub her clit, until she comes first, clenching around him and pushing him over the edge. He leans over to kiss her through it and she mewls into his mouth as he spills into her. 

They spend a few minutes with Jiho’s face laying on Seolhyun’s chest while she runs her fingers through her hair and he grows soft inside her, just touching, just breathing.


	5. Chapter 5

After kissing and showering and touching the sensitive spots of each other’s bodies while they kiss and shower, they eventually get around to eating dinner, which Jiho is grateful for because Seolhyun is a much better cook than either he or Kyung are, and they take the opportunity while Kyung’s not there to lie on the couch and watch tv. Seolhyun wakes him up ten minutes after they lie down as he falls asleep and moves him into his bedroom, shifting him around until he’s on his side and she’s behind him with an arm over his waist, a mirror of their position they last time they saw each other. Jiho can’t explain it but Seolhyun makes him feel safe when Seolhyun’s around, like she can protect him when he needs her to, from himself, from other people. He’s never doubted that she loves him, and she’s never given him reason to, especially not like this, her hand bunched in his sweatshirt, her lips pressed to the nape of his neck, breathing in the quiescence of their beating hearts.

 

 

 

 

The air in the workshop is thick with the stench of old books and tea leaves and as soon as he steps inside Kyung immediately opens all the curtains and windows in the room. Professor Bae startles awake as the sunlight pours in, his toupee askew, reaching for his walking stick. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he says, attempting to get up. “Get out of my house!”

Kyung picks up the handheld tape recorder on the desk and presses play, the tape already set up to playback the right message, and Professor Bae’s voice comes through, relaying the same details: who Kyung is, what they’re doing, how Professor Bae hired him. It goes differently each time Kyung plays it. Today, Professor Bae manages to push himself to standing unaided and starts grumbling about how he doesn’t need a damn babysitter, just because he can’t remember specifics doesn’t mean he needs to be in community care, and Kyung listens, helps him into his desk chair that Professor Bae says is good for his back, a point that Kyung has argued with him on almost every day he’s brought it up.

Professor Bae puts his glasses on and pulls his ledger towards him. “Where were we?” 

“The garden scene. Jihee and Sejun had just discovered the pool that leads to another realm.”

“Ah,” Professor Bae says, smacking his lips together as if he’s about to feast. “Yes, good. Let’s pick up there.”

The rest of the day goes pretty much how it always does, plus and minus a few details; Professor Bae forgets his morning pot of tea and becomes agitated without the caffeine, but Kyung does what he’s paid to do, what he enjoys: helping his sunbaenim live the last years of his life creating things that bring joy to the world. Professor Bae was never the easiest person to get along with, but Kyung takes pride in what they’re doing, even if it doesn’t always make sense to him. Sometimes the point of it is lost on him: maybe Professor Bae would never finish his last book, and their efforts might be in vain. Other times it seems easier to arrange aged care for him with the help of his family, but Kyung knows that isn’t what Professor Bae wants. He’s still mobile and physically capable, but it’s his Alzheimer’s that worries Kyung, whether he would wander off one day and not remember how to get home or even who he is. His family hasn’t yet arranged for a daily carer, and Kyung worries. He’s pretty much the only help Professor Bae had.

“And what are they going to discover in this other realm?”

“Mirror versions of themselves, you said.”

“Pah,” Professor Bae says, “boring. Waste of time. Choose something else.”

“You were adamant last time. You even made a note not to let me dissuade you because of your vision for the book.”

“Humor me, then.” He and Kyung look at each other while Kyung contemplates his next words. Professor Bae has a pinched face from the permanent scowl he wears and serious, discerning eyes, but he has never judged Kyung for who he is and what he does, has never rebuffed his suggestions with a forthright _not good enough_ like he does to his own ideas sometimes, and Kyung feels grateful for the opportunity to share them. 

Kyung leans back in his chair, stretching out, getting comfortable. “They could meet future versions of themselves.”

Professor Bae nods. “They could.”

“Versions of themselves after the war, scarred, battle-hardened soldiers ten years their senior who’ve seen too much.”

Professor Bae pushes his notebook towards him. “And then what?”

“The realm they enter could be the real world after the war, after Seoul has been destroyed and people are picking up what’s left of their lives.” He starts scribbling down his thoughts only at Professor Bae’s urging, surprising himself at the detail he comes out with: Jihee’s limp, the type of sword she carries, a jedok geom; Sejun’s one working eye, and how his personality changes from an optimistic and inquisitive child to a weary young man. Professor Bae encourages him, listening mostly but adding some detail as well, and soon enough an hour has passed of just Kyung writing a story that was never his. 

They look over it together, and it’s imperfect -- Kyung’s more of a poet than a novelist -- but Professor Bae seems happy. It’s up to him if he’ll use any of it, or if he’ll write it in his own style. After that, Professor Bae picks up the writing and the discussion, and the day passes like that, with Kyung interjecting when Professor Bae forgets an important detail, or suggesting a word when he gets stuck, and Kyung leaves the workshop late that night feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

 

 

 

 

Jiho’s still not used to the cameras and the red carpet, even though he’s not the one walking it. Seolhyun does it so effortlessly, fielding questions and laughing at the appropriate moments and leaving the cameras flashing in her wake. The dress she’s wearing trails behind her and hugs her waistline, and Seolhyun must sense how much he wants to make a show of it and pull her to him because she holds his hand instead, flashes a smile that’s just for him. Despite the paparazzi and the cameras, Jiho feels comfortable with her, feels a bit giddy on the champagne they opened in the limo because Seolhyun always faces these things better when she’s buzzed, and they make their way into the theatre.

When they get to the front row, all the giddiness Jiho felt leaves him and his stomach tightens at the sight of Yukwon and Sunhye sitting together. He almost stops in his tracks except for Seolhyun pulling him along to the two seats next to them, sitting and leaving the space next to Yukwon free for him. Yukwon’s smile when he notices Jiho is bright and warm and Jiho smiles back, knowing how forced and awkward it is. He takes his seat, feeling like he’s walking to the gallows. 

“Hey,” Yukwon says, leaning close to him. “I wondered if Seolhyun would drag you along tonight.”

“Hey.” Jiho pulls at the neck of his button-down, feeling strangled by it, and when Seolhyun takes his hand, pulling it into his lap, he can feel how sweaty it is. They don’t get much of a chance to talk before the film starts, but Jiho can’t make conversation anyway, torn between the people sitting on either side of him and the churning in his gut. The movie passes by him mostly unseen and unheard, aside from the few explosions that catch his eye before it wanders again. He finds himself staring at the back of Yukwon’s hand as it lies between them on the armrest, his eye following it dazedly as it lifts and moves, not really paying attention until Yukwon’s hand closes over Jiho’s knee and he jumps in his seat. Luckily it happens at the exact moment a gunshot rings out through the cinema, so he can blame it on that later when Seolhyun teases him about how jumpy he is, and he can laugh and say, I’m growing soft in my old age. Yukwon doesn’t retract his hand, and Jiho grips Seolhyun’s tighter. 

After ten minutes of this, of Yukwon’s hand just resting there, the combination of feeling sick and turned on has him escaping to the bathroom. He leans over the sink, resting his palms on the marble to regain his centre of gravity. This is bad, he knows, how much he likes Yukwon, how he wished Yukwon would slide his hand up Jiho’s thigh, how he’s getting hard at the thought of it. So much is going on in his head, his thoughts on overdrive, he has to slow his breathing down just to calm his heart rate, has to splash water on his face to cool down. 

He jumps when the bathroom door opens and he meets Yukwon’s eyes in the mirror. “Don’t,” Jiho says, but Yukwon comes toward him anyway, hands up like he’s approaching a spooked animal. He looks good in his pressed tuxedo, and Jiho hates himself for even noticing it. 

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Yukwon says, still walking toward him. He comes up to the sinks and leans his hip against them casually. He smells like his signature aftershave. 

“You meant something,” Jiho says, all but spitting it out. 

“You know what I meant.” 

“No,” Jiho says, forcefully, “I don’t. We both have girlfriends. I love Seolhyun. I know you love Sunhye. So what are you doing, toying with me like this?”

“Is it because I’m a man?”

“Don’t insult me, Yukwon.” Jiho feels his anger rise above his other emotions. “I’m not some closet case you can rescue from their repression. I’m not going to run away with you after spurning Seolhyun.”

Yukwon crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you like me.” His voice has a bratty tone to it, as if he doesn’t understand the simple way Jiho is explaining to him why he can’t play Yukwon’s games. 

“That doesn’t matter.”

Yukwon looks at him for a longer time than Jiho is comfortable with standing alone together in a bathroom while their girlfriends wait for them, but just as he’s about to look away, Yukwon steps toward him again. He reaches his hand out to touch the back of Jiho’s hand, and again Jiho feels it with more than his body. Yukwon’s voice is low and quiet when he says, “It counts for something.” 

Jiho moves without conscious effort, cupping Yukwon’s face and kissing him in one swift movement, and it shocks Yukwon as much as it does Jiho, but he can’t stop. When Yukwon kisses back, their mouths fit together like a puzzle, and Jiho feels something inside himself click, a missing piece slot into place. Yukwon’s hands fist in Jiho’s jacket to pull him closer, and Jiho crowds him against the sinks, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. 

It goes off for too long. Any amount of time they spend doing this is too long, despite how right it feels, how good Yukwon smells, how soft his lips are. After a few minutes, Jiho breaks the kiss and stumbles back from the force it takes to pull away. 

“We can’t do this,” he says, back to not looking at Yukwon. “I can’t betray Seolhyun like this.” From the corner of his eye, Yukwon takes a step forward, but Jiho puts his hand up to stop him. “Don’t. Just -- don’t.”

He looks up to see Yukwon flattening his hair and Jiho takes the opportunity to straighten his jacket before he leads the way out of the bathroom, and Yukwon follows him in silence until they take their seats back in the theatre.

 

 

 

 

Kyung doesn’t wait until he gets home from the workshop to message Minhyuk, who replies immediately, as if he was just waiting for the opportunity to invite Kyung over to his house again. On the walk over he rereads the message Minhyuk sent him yesterday that brought him over to the office, and it gets him hot, knowing he has that effect on him. When Minhyuk opens the door, even though he’s barefoot he looks like he’s dressed up, wearing a nice shirt that looks fresh enough that he didn’t wear it to work, and jeans that hug his thighs. 

Minhyuk invites him in, and Kyung waits until he’s closed the door before he walks Minhyuk back into it, kissing him hungrily, pressing their bodies together. Kyung has to get up on his toes to kiss him properly but he likes it, getting on Minhyuk’s level. He’s a good kisser, and they work well together, just enough tongue, just enough push and pull on both sides to make it good. 

“I missed you,” Minhyuk says, mostly into Kyung’s mouth.

Kyung pulls back immediately. “Don’t say that shit to me.”

Minhyuk’s brow creases and he looks hurt, but Kyung can’t deal with that, so he just kisses him again. Kyung can feel his dick getting interested the longer they kiss, and he takes his hand off Minhyuk’s waist to check if he is, too, cupping the outline of him through his jeans. It doesn’t take much effort to get Minhyuk’s jeans undone and get in there, and when he does Minhyuk bucks into his hand.

“Let’s take this upstairs,” Minhyuk says. He takes Kyung’s hand out of his jeans and leads him by through his unreasonably large apartment it to his bedroom, which is as big as Jiho’s whole apartment. He tries not to get caught up in how expensive this place must be and how well decorated it is with just the right amount of personalised things to make it seem lived in and not like a serial killer’s apartment. 

“Who are you?” Kyung asks as he takes in the space, before Minhyuk cuts him off by kissing him again. 

“How far do you want to go?” Minhyuk asks. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Kyung looks up at him, at his kind eyes and round cheeks, feels something flutter in his chest, and decides, fuck it. “I haven’t been fucked by a guy in a while, so you’re welcome to do that.”

“I thought you said you just got out of a relationship?”

“Yeah,” Kyung says, “with a woman. Why is it so surprising to people that I’m bisexual?”

Minhyuk kisses him instead of answering, pushing him back until his calves hit the bed and he falls back onto the mattress. He squats down to pull off Kyung’s shoes and socks, helping him out of his jeans, divesting him of his shirt, until he’s naked. He sprawls back on the bed, enjoying Minhyuk’s Egyptian cotton sheets and watches as Minhyuk gets naked, too. He has a nice body, toned and stocky, a flat stomach and a big dick he strokes as he watches Kyung bathe in his attention. 

“Come here,” Kyung says, motioning to him, and Minhyuk does, settling over him, and it’s nice, it’s hot, their skin pressed together like this, but Minhyuk is heavy and Kyung’s a lot smaller than him. “Okay,” he says, pushing at Minhyuk’s shoulder, “get off me, I can’t breathe.”

Minhyuk rolls off him but doesn’t go far, looking upset that he might have hurt Kyung, and Kyung kisses him again.

“I’m okay, that was just awkward.”

“Sorry,” Minhyuk says, but Kyung stops him talking by wrapping a hand around him and stroking him to hardness. He’s thick and solid in Kyung’s grip, and Kyung can imagine what it’s going to be like having that inside him, fucking into him until he’s sore and walking funny the next day. Kyung tries to wrap his hand around both of them, but can’t get the angle right, doesn’t know if he’s going at the right pace. 

“Is this good for you?” Minhyuk nods, but not enthusiastically enough for Kyung to be sure. He huffs out a breath and gives up. “Get the lube.”

Minhyuk laughs, says, “If you say so.” As he reaches over Kyung to the nightstand, Kyung gets a faceful of armpit and pushes Minhyuk away again. 

“I’ll get it,” he says, growing annoyed at how awkward this is when it should be easy, he knows how to have sex, he’s done it before. He digs through Minhyuk’s collection of various toys to find his half empty bottle of lube, which Minhyuk plucks from his hands. 

“Lie back,” Minhyuk says, kissing Kyung’s shoulder, “relax,” and Kyung tries to, tries not to think about how he hasn’t had sex with a guy in over four years, has only had sex with one person in that whole time, how Minhyuk is older and probably better at it than Kyung is. Minhyuk kisses down Kyung’s body, pushing his knees open to settle between them and slicking up his fingers. The lube is cold when he circles them around Kyung’s hole, and Kyung shivers at the touch. “Okay?”

Kyung nods, takes a deep breath in and then out as Minhyuk pushes his fingers in. It’s not painful, but it’s uncomfortable, and Kyung’s not used to it, hasn’t even fingered himself in that long that it isn’t exactly pleasurable. “Add another,” he says, looking down his own body at Minhyuk’s cock nestled in the dark patch of hair between his legs. Minhyuk does, scissoring Kyung open for a few minutes, adding a third to get him used to the stretch. Eventually Kyung pushes his hand away. “Okay, I’m good, let’s go.”

Minhyuk tries, he really does, kissing and touching Kyung as he makes his way up, trying to make is good an experience as possible. Kyung tries to push down his frustration and enjoy himself, gets caught up in kissing Minhyuk again until he feels the head of Minhyuk’s cock against his perineum. 

“That’s not it,” Kyung says, and Minhyuk huffs out a laugh.

“I know.”

“Better get on with it before I fall asleep.”

Minhyuk settles on his knees and grips himself, pushing in slowly, and Kyung feels it filling him up, forcing a groan out of him. Kyung tries to relax his features, his body, tries not to let on how painful it is, but Minhyuk stops half way.

“Kyung, what’s going on?”

Kyung forces himself to open his eyes, to look at Minhyuk. “I told you, I haven’t had sex with a guy in a while.”

“I’ll pull out,” Minhyuk says, but Kyung grabs his arm.

“No, don’t, just. Keep going.”

Minhyuk looks worried, but does as Kyung says, pushing in until he’s fully seated. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yeah,” Kyung says, “it’ll start to feel better soon.” This is never happened to him before, but it doesn’t. Even as Minhyuk starts to thrust and the pain subsides, Kyung doesn’t feel anything except the mechanics of what they’re doing, pulling out halfway just to push back in, pulling out to push in, feeling Minhyuk’s balls slapping against him, his thick cock forcing him open. He wants to get into it, he really does, but it’s not happening. “Okay, wait.” He pushes Minhyuk off him a third time, rolls him onto his back so he can get on top, sinking down as smoothly as he can. It’s his turn to do most of the work, rising up and sinking back down, but it’s the same. He feels nothing, and after a minute he stops.

“So,” Kyung says.

“So,” Minhyuk says. “This is what bad sex is like.”

Kyung laughs, kneels up until Minhyuk slides out of him and sits next to him on the bed. “I should go.”

“You really don’t have to.” Minhyuk reaches over to put a hand on Kyung’s thigh. “We don’t have to try again tonight but we can get better.”

“Yeah.” Kyung glances at the clock on the wall. Quarter past twelve. He has a shift at the cafe at six. “I really have to go, though.”

“Okay.” Minhyuk watches him get dressed, pulls on a robe and walks him to the front door. He tries to kiss Kyung goodbye, but Kyung turns his head and the kiss lands on his cheek.

“I’ll see you,” Kyung says, and Minhyuk nods, says, “Okay,” again, and Kyung walks down the hall, doesn’t hear the door close until he’s around the corner and out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

High tea, they agreed, at some tiny outdoor cafe where the wait staff are Australian, as if Kyung can’t tell the difference between them and the English, with their drawling accents and half-formed vowels. He’s not mad at the wait staff. He’s not even mad about high tea, even though he doesn’t drink it. He’s drinking it now, for Eunbi’s sake, sampling the tiny biscuits and swallowing them past the lump in his throat. She looks as good as ever, just as cute, just as radiant. Her hair is as long as it was when they met and the memory of that resurfaces now, at the worst kind of time, bringing back the emotions he felt then.

“I miss you,” he says, like an idiot, and shoves another biscuit in his mouth.

Eunbi sighs and lowers her cup. “I know,” she says. If she didn’t call this date to hear that, then Kyung doesn’t know what. “Eunbi’s moving in. We’re -- together now. I thought you should know that.”

Kyung pushes his saucer around on the table. Around them on all sides are couples enjoying themselves, taking photos of the settings, holding hands. Everything here looks like it should be on a birthday cake. Kyung picks at the frilly lace of his napkin.

“Well, you didn’t have to tell me.” He tries not to sound bitter, but it comes out that way even to his own ears. He doesn’t want to be that person, he never wanted to be that person, but here he is, acting this way in front of the one woman whose opinion means the most to him.

“I thought I owed it to you,” Eunbi says, sounding sad, stirring her tea unnecessarily.

“Are you two in love like we were in love?” Like everything he’s saying, it seems, it comes out of his mouth without forethought. He doesn’t need to know. It’s only going to eat him up inside.

Eunbi sighs again. “Kyung, you were never in love with me.”

“I was _so_ in love with you.”

“You were in love with the idea of being in a relationship.” She says it like she’s thought about it and come to the worst possible opinion of Kyung. He can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.

“Well,” Kyung says, biting back all the things that come to mind, “you sure cured me of that.”

But now once Eunbi’s started, she doesn’t seem like she wants to stop. “You think having a wife and a house and children means you’ve achieved something in life, but you only think that because you’re too afraid to achieve anything else.”

“It’s becoming a pattern for you to shit all over me every time we see each other,” he says. He can’t hide the hurt he feels. He might cry, and maybe that’s what Eunbi wants. He can’t tell anymore; she’s so far away from the person he used to know. “Watch out or it’ll become a personality trait.”

“What I mean is, you’re too smart to settle for that. You shouldn’t settle for anything.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Kyung says, mostly to his hands.

Eunbi sighs again. “I want you to be the best person you can be, not just being comfortable and aimless like you were with me. I just want the best for you.”

Again, Kyung bites back the rejoinders that almost trip off his tongue, because whatever she’s trying to make him do, he won’t be the kind of vicious he feels like being. “So you want me to be more like you, killing myself at a job I hate and working endless hours?”

At that, Eunbi’s mouth thins out and her expression clouds over. She always got mad when Kyung complained about how many hours she worked and how she didn’t seem to like what she was doing, defending it at every turn. She spent more time on public relations with celebrities than she did on their relationship, so for her to end it because she doesn’t think Kyung was putting in enough effort, it would make Kyung laugh if he could feel anything other than hurt. “How’s your book of poems going?”

It’s Kyung’s turn to get mad. It’s like a weapon she uses against him. “Fine. Just great.”

Eunbi stares at him for a long time before she pushes her chair back and stands, reaching for her handbag hanging on the back of it. She glances at her own hands, then back up at him, looking like she’s choosing her words carefully. “I want you to succeed, I really do. You deserve so much more than what you’re doing right now. You just need to try harder to achieve the things you don’t think you’re capable of getting, because you can achieve them.” Her eyes start to water, but it might be from the sun, it might be from her contacts, Kyung doesn’t really care to find out. She drops some cash on the table and leaves quickly, pushing through the delicately arranged chairs, pulling her handbag over her shoulder, and Kyung finds it easier to watch her retreating back than it is to look at her face and see the complete lack of love she feels for him, to look in her eyes and remember the past four years feeling as though they meant nothing to her, or at least not enough to make their relationship worth it.

He doesn’t feel like breaking down in a public place, so he leaves the cafe, not bothering to check if she’s covered the whole bill, and walks into the closest bar he can find.

 

 

 

 

The charcoal stains on Jiho’s hands bring back memories of when he was in college, when he’d stay up all night making art he was proud of, that his sunsaengnims admired, that Seolhyun praised him for, whispering in his ear how much she loved it until he would pull her into his lap and stain her clothes and skin with charcoal, too. Much like then, he’s still awake at two in the morning when he hears the front door open and slam, and laughter ring out in the silence. He hears the footsteps of at least three people moving around his apartment and feels a Kyung-induced headache coming on.

Kyung’s voice draws him out of his study and when Jiho gets to the lounge room, he’s directing two foreign-looking men around, talking to them, clearly wasted.

“Shh, you’ll wake Jiho,” he says, even though the guys haven’t said anything. He smiles like a saint when he sees Jiho in the doorway, tripping and almost falling when he walks over. He places a hand on Jiho’s shoulder and says, “Listen,” but doesn’t follow it up with anything.

At this point, only a few hours before he has to get up for work, Jiho is beyond done with him, done with Kyung waking him up in the middle of the night, with eating all his food, with getting wasted by himself on his couch. Kyung’s never brought anyone over to Jiho’s house but looking back on his spiral it seemed only a matter of time, at least in hindsight. It would make sense that Kyung would outdo the expectations Jiho had of him and bring two guys over. He knocks Kyung’s hand off his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Do you like them?” Kyung asks. He waves his hands like they’re a show car he’s trying to sell. “I got one for you. They don’t speak Korean, but you know, sex is the same in all languages.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“If you don’t want one I’ll have both for myself.” He can barely stand upright, but he’s old enough to make his own choices and when this one backfires on him, Jiho’s not going to fix it for him.

“You’re cleaning up any mess you make. Put down some plastic sheeting or something.”

Kyung salutes him with a giggle and Jiho doesn’t bother watching how the rest of this plays out, but leaves Kyung to it, locking his bedroom door behind him and reaching for his headphones.

 

 

 

 

One of the guys is making coffee in the morning when Jiho comes into the kitchen, but at least he’s dressed in what appears to be a vest and dress pants. Nothing else, though.

“Annyeong,” he says, and Jiho stops in surprise. He has a nice accent.

“I thought you didn’t speak Korean.” He grabs the cup the guy offers him, taking a seat at the table.

“That’s what he thought. Neither of us bothered to correct him.”

“His name is Kyung,” Jiho says, feeling agitated, at a lot of things, and nothing in particular. He sips his coffee, stronger than he usually takes it. “Where are you two from?”

“Colombia.” The guy looks at home wearing his tiny vest and standing barefoot in Jiho’s kitchen. He’s probably one of the bartenders from Gudeongi. Why Kyung didn’t think they would speak Korean if they worked at a Korean bar he puts down to Kyung being a drunk idiot.

“Is there a lot of,” Jiho starts, having to search for something to complete the sentence, finally landing on, “coffee in Colombia?”

“Oh,” the guy says, with a smirk, and that’s exactly Kyung’s type right there. He’s trim and fit and has the kind of hip bones Kyung has expressed an interest in licking honey off of to Jiho before, but he’s not Jiho’s type. He’s too tall. “The best.”

“Okay,” Jiho says. “Get out.”

The Colombian guy doesn’t look put out at Jiho’s command, just pours the rest of his coffee down the sink and goes to wake the other one, peeling him off Kyung where they’re glued together on the floor. They weren’t too drunk it seems to pull the cushions off the couch and sleep like that, and Jiho curls his lip at the sight of the two of them naked on his living room carpet. Even after the Colombians leave, Kyung is still passed out, and Jiho nudges him with his foot for a while, more forcefully as the seconds press on, until Kyung groans and opens his eyes.

“Get up,” Jiho says, the nudging turning into almost kicking, “get out of my home. Go find a new apartment.”

“Let me put some pants on,” Kyung says, like it’s that easy, like the only reason he’s been living here for this long is because Jiho hasn’t told him to get the hell out before. If Jiho had known that’s all he had to do he would have said it after the first time Kyung crawled into his bed at three a.m., “just to cuddle”.

“I’m going to kill you,” Jiho says.

“Don’t let me suffer,” Kyung says, and Jiho considers pouring his coffee on him. He finally sits up, pulling on the nearest pair of pants, which happens to be his cut-off jean shorts he wears when he goes out “trawling for dick”, and looks up at Jiho. “I saw Eunbi yesterday. She found a new and even better way of ripping my heart out of my chest and making me eat it in front of spectators.”

“You’re a mess, Park Kyung,” Jiho says, and for once Kyung doesn’t disagree with him.

 

 

 

 

It takes him a week to find a new place that’s central enough to get to all his jobs and cheap enough for him to afford, a week of ignoring Minhyuk’s texts and barely speaking to Jiho, a week of extra shifts at the cafe and the radio station so that when he comes back to Jiho’s place at whatever time of the morning or afternoon, he barely has the energy to change out of his clothes before he falls asleep. He packs his shit up in his car and leaves when Jiho’s at work, so there aren’t any awkward “I’ll see you”s, no fist fights in the parking lot, no slammed doors, and no lingering goodbyes. Like with most things in Kyung’s life these days, it’s a quiet kind of sadness.

Unpacking takes all of fifteen minutes and then it’s just him and a bunch of stuff on a mattress in an apartment that feels weird because it’s new, because it’s his. He doesn’t have anything to eat, to eat with, or to eat on, and he can’t be bothered going out, so he orders food and pulls out the writing book with all his unfinished poems and gets to work. He becomes engrossed, as he always does, doing this thing where he uses his brain, and after an hour a thought comes to him fully formed. It involves Minhyuk, and once it’s there it won’t leave him alone.

It’s only a short walk to Minhyuk’s office, and it’s still only lunch time when he gets there, so he doubles back to Cheongnyangni to pick something up. The receptionist gives him a smile when he comes in, and lets him through to the second floor when he tells her he’s got a delivery for Minhyuk. He hears her phone him and ruins the surprise, but Kyung bursts into his office anyway, dropping the box of fruit on Minhyuk’s desk.

Minhyuk looks taken aback and puts the phone down, staring at Kyung like he’s not sure Kyung’s actually there. “Long time, no see,” Minhyuk says. He doesn’t seem mad that Kyung’s basically ambushed him, but Kyung didn’t think he would be.

Kyung takes a breath. “I know I can’t fuck my problems away, but I’m not ready to be in a relationship again. I hope you understand that. It’s only been less than a month since I got out of a four-year relationship with someone who ground my heart into mince meat, and it’s too soon to want to spend every second someone new, or to miss them when they’re not around. I just can’t do it.”

Minhyuk watches him as he’s baring his soul and nods when he’s finished. “I understand. When you get hurt like that, it takes a while to recover.”

“So, you’re okay with that. Not being in a relationship.”

“If that’s what you want,” Minhyuk says.

Kyung groans into his hands. “See, you say that, but even by saying that what you really mean is that you like me enough that you want me no matter if we’re in a relationship or not, which is a relationship-level amount of liking me, so you do want to be in a relationship.”

Minhyuk leans back in his chair, with a raised-eyebrow, appraising sort of look. “You’re overthinking this.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Minhyuk shrugs. It’s impossible to actually get a read on him, what he wants, what he’s thinking, and it makes Kyung mad, makes him want to tug at the veneer of Minhyuk’s self control until it unravels. Minhyuk watches him the whole time he stalks around the desk, walking into Minhyuk’s space until he’s standing between Minhyuk’s knees, leaning over him with a hand on the back of his chair, and he gets this glint in his eye like he likes what’s happening.

“If I blow you right now, it’s just casual. It’s not a prelude to anything, it’s not a sign of our impending relationship, it’s not a cute story we can gross out our friend group with.” Kyung wets his lips and Minhyuk’s eyes drop down to his mouth. “Okay?”

“If?” Minhyuk asks.

“When,” Kyung says, and drops to his knees. He doesn’t waste any time unzipping Minhyuk’s pants and getting his cock out, jacking it leisurely while Minhyuk’s fingers bite into his armrests.

“Are you going to have another panic attack?”

“I promise I will try not to,” Kyung says, stroking Minhyuk a bit faster now, leaning forward to spit onto him.

“What should I do if that happens?” Minhyuk asks, his breath hitching.

“Just let me do what I need to. Don’t touch me. Tell your assistant to cancel your appointments.”

“I don’t have any appointments.” Minhyuk’s voice sounds a bit strained, like maybe he hasn’t gotten any in awhile, and the thought comes to Kyung’s mind that maybe Minhyuk doesn’t have anyone else in his rotation, that maybe it’s just Kyung.

“Just do it anyway,” Kyung says.

Minhyuk picks up the phone and pages reception, says, “Mido, cancel my appointments for today,” and Kyung takes him into his mouth. Kyung’s always liked this, giving blowjobs, giving head, it makes him feel powerful to give someone pleasure, and even if he’s the one on his knees, he’s still in charge. Minhyuk is thick and long but Kyung sinks down to the base, enough to smell the shampoo Minhyuk uses on his pubic hair, feels him fill up his mouth. He tastes good, too, and Kyung feels like he’s getting lightheaded off it, a rush of arousal that puts all thought of anything else out of his mind. There’s just this right now, just making Minhyuk feel good.

“You’re really good at that,” Minhyuk says, just this side of reverent. “Most guys don’t know how to deepthroat.” Kyung doesn’t bother telling him he learned it from American porn and practiced it in America because he’s too busy trying to make Minhyuk lose control. He hears Minhyuk’s hitch in breathing and counts it as a win, sucking harder. Minhyuk’s hand comes up to stroke Kyung’s cheek and Kyung slaps it away. That’s not what this about, not today.

Kyung pulls back to suckle at the head, lapping up Minhyuk’s pre-come, pushing back his foreskin, wrapping a hand around the base to jack him off, and Minhyuk’s whole body seems to seize before he comes, hot and pulsing, into Kyung’s mouth. Kyung jerks the last of it out of him, swallowing it all, keeps deepthroating until Minhyuk goes soft in his mouth. Minhyuk’s breathing hard now, and as proud of himself as Kyung is, it’s nowhere near the loss of control he expected.

He tucks Minhyuk back into his pants and stands, considering kissing Minhyuk before Minhyuk reaches for him and he steps back. “It’s just casual,” Kyung repeats, leaving Minhyuk’s office with the taste of him in his mouth and the satisfaction of leaving him wanting more.


	7. Chapter 7

Even though Jiho’s wearing a silk shirt, he feels underdressed in the crowd of people who, judging by all the mink coats, look like they earn three times his salary. He fiddles with his champagne glass, wandering aimlessly through the gallery while Seolhyun charms her way through another group of people Jiho isn’t all that interested in. He should network, he knows, but he’s nervous for some reason: that they won’t like his art, maybe. That no one will bid on it. That Seolhyun will see and there will be questions, more questions, like why he painted it when, according to her observations, Jiho and Yukwon aren’t on very good terms anymore.

He wishes she didn’t know him so well, or that he could have fielded her questions better in the cab when she asked him why he’d been acting so strange at the premiere, why he’d been avoiding Yukwon these past few months. Why he seemed to be throwing away years of friendship without talking to her about what was bothering him, because something was bothering him, of course she could tell. He brushed it off and she let it go, but that’s not going to be the end of it. He has to tell her, he knows. He can’t keep it in much longer.

He meets Kyung towards the back of the gallery, who’s wearing actual clothes this time, swimming in a jacket that makes him look even tinier.

“Which giant did you steal that from?” Jiho asks, pointing in Kyung’s general direction.

Kyung rolls his eyes. “Got it from your closet actually. I would have taken your cloche hat but it only fits heads the size of watermelons. The new place is great, by the way, thanks for asking. No need to worry about me.”

Jiho rolls his eyes. “Of course I don’t need to worry about you. If you weren’t okay, you would have made sure I knew about it.”

Kyung shrugs. “Yeah, that’s true.” He turns to the wall to take a good look at Jiho’s art work, and Jiho reluctantly does the same.

It may be the end of his relationship, but it’s the most honest piece he’s ever done. Every art work he’s ever created has shown a new side of himself, and over the last two weeks he’s been able to express himself in a way he hasn’t done in years. He’s exhausted, running on fumes, but he’s also hyped up from finishing it the night before, from having something in a gallery, from the thought of Yukwon seeing it and knowing how Jiho feels. The piece itself is drawn like a page ripped in half. On one side is Yukwon’s three-quarter profile and, on the other, Seolhyun’s. Yukwon’s eyes are cast down, his lashes fanning his cheeks, his hair in his eyes, while Seolhyun’s are looking upward, the light catching her cheekbones. In the middle, split by the fissure, is an anatomical heart in a birdcage.

“Um,” Kyung says, sounding annoyed. “Where the fuck am I?”

Jiho points to a blank spot of canvas no bigger than his thumbnail. “That’s you right there. Drawn to scale.”

“Hilarious.”

Jiho opens his mouth to lay it on thicker, when Yukwon calls his name. He’s directing three other men through the gallery towards them. Jiho feels he should push Kyung into another hallway to avoid a probable disaster, such as Kyung blurting out something he shouldn’t, but Kyung’s still looking at Jiho’s artwork. His mouth runs dry as Yukwon and his procession come towards them, thinking about the last time they saw each other and how out of hand it became. Yukwon’s smile is as blinding as ever, as butterflies-inducing as ever.

“This is Jiho,” Yukwon says to his friends. “Jiho, there’s couple of people I want to introduce you to. First, this is Minhyuk.”

Jiho barely gets a look at the guy -- average height, round face, expensive suit -- before Kyung blurts out, “What the _fuck_.”

“Kyung, what--”

Kyung cuts Jiho off by pushing in front of him, standing up to his full one-metre-seventy height to glare at Minhyuk. “What the hell are you doing here?” Kyung can be scary when he’s mad, like a chihuahua baring it’s teeth at an ankle, but Minhyuk doesn’t flinch.

“It’s his opening,” Yukwon says, glancing between Kyung, Minhyuk and Jiho, “this is Minhyuk’s gallery.”

Kyung looks shocked, turning to Jiho as if to make sure Jiho can’t believe this either. Jiho just shrugs and Kyung turns back to Minhyuk. “We are going to have a chat,” Kyung says, before turning on his heel and marching away.

“Nice to meet you, Jiho,” Minhyuk says with a wink, striding after Kyung.

“Anyway,” Yukwon says, picking up the thread of the conversation, “this is another friend of mine, Taeil.”

When Seolhyun asks him about this moment later, after everything has happened and they’ve salvaged their relationship, Jiho won’t be embellishing when he says his heart skipped a beat. Sure, Taeil is shorter than Jiho thought, but he’s just as cute, with just as good a fashion sense as Jiho’s seen on Inkigayo. His sleeves come down to his knuckles, almost obscuring the tattoos there, and Jiho knows there’s more -- covering almost his entire body, according to some reports. After too much time spent just staring at him, Jiho bows quickly, spilling some of his champagne on Taeil’s shoes, and Taeil giggles. The third guy steps forward, whipping out a napkin from nowhere and wiping Taeil’s shoes clean before stepping back.

“And this is Taeil’s assistant, Jihoon.”

He dwarfs Taeil, and his size is menacing; even though he’s only a few centimetres or so taller than Jiho, Jiho feels intimidated by his black suit and expensive glasses and the power of his stance. He seems more like a bodyguard than an assistant.

“Nice to meet you,” Jiho says, finally, and Taeil and Jihoon bow back to him.

“Is this your piece?” Taeil points towards the wall behind Jiho. In the intervening moments, Jiho had forgotten the whole reason he was here. He glances at Yukwon, who gives no indication that anything is amiss, before he nods. Taeil moves over to it, giving it an appraising look, and Yukwon moves closer, too, squeezing Jiho’s arm as he goes, as if they’re nothing more than friends, as if what they’re doing is fine. As Jiho watches him, it seems to happen in slow motion: taking measured steps towards the artwork, carefully stepping around Taeil, his gaze sharpening as it lands on the portrait, his face blank, unreadable, and then, finally, turning to face Jiho. His heart pounds in his chest as if trying to break free, and in his darker moments Jiho wishes it would, that it would leave him and take his feelings for Yukwon and Seolhyun with it. He can’t live like this anymore. Hopefully, now, Yukwon understands.

“I don’t know much about art,” Taeil says, and Jiho brings his awareness back to the other people in his vicinity, “but you definitely have talent. There are a lot of bids on this already, although if that’s because it features the two lead actors from that movie I didn’t bother seeing, who’s to say? If it wasn’t four years old I’d say this was a promo.”

Yukwon hasn’t taken his eyes off Jiho, but his expression has softened into something that makes Jiho both want to look away and unable to. Yukwon strides over, purposeful, grabs Jiho’s hand, says, “Excuse us,” to Jihoon and Taeil and leads Jiho away. The whole time they’re walking through the gallery Jiho can feel Yukwon’s hand warm in his and eyes on them both, scared that Seolhyun will see them, and when they make it to the coat room and Yukwon pulls Jiho inside, he’s never been more simultaneously grateful for the isolation and terrified of it. Yukwon still hasn’t let go off his hand.

“I,” Jiho says, but he doesn’t have any words. Everything he had to say he’s already said with his portrait.

“I know,” Yukwon says, and grabs the label of Jiho’s shirt to pull him in. The kiss is hungry and wild and it matches the speed of Jiho’s racing heartbeat. Within minutes he’s gasping for air, pushing Yukwon back against the wall, pushing his knee between Yukwon’s, grinding their hips together. Yukwon moans into his mouth, hands fisted in Jiho’s shirt to pull him closer, his cock growing hard against Jiho’s thigh. It’s a rush to finally feel the evidence of Yukwon’s attraction to him, that it’s not just his mind and personality, but his body too, making Yukwon feel this way. He wants to touch Yukwon there, but he gets caught up, kissing, grinding, his hand wrapped around the back of Yukwon’s neck, the other pulling Yukwon’s shirt out of his pants to get at his skin. Jiho pushes his hand up Yukwon’s skin, smoothing over the muscles of his abdomen which jump under his touch, thumbing over his nipple.

“Look what you started,” Jiho says. His head is so clouded, he can barely breathe. All that exists is his body and Yukwon’s, the friction bringing him to hardness. Yukwon arches under his touch, rubbing himself against Jiho’s thigh shamelessly.

“You make me feel so much,” Yukwon says, a little breathless, Jiho’s impact, “how can I not want this? How can I just let you go?”

Jiho scrapes his teeth over the pulse point in Yukwon’s neck, nipping lightly, kissing to soothe the bite, and Yukwon comes like that, against Jiho’s thigh. Jiho kisses him again and follows soon after, spilling into his underwear, sighing into Yukwon’s parted lips.

The reality of what they’ve done sets in almost as soon as he comes and he steps back, putting as much distance between himself and Yukwon as he can in the small space. Yukwon doesn’t reach out for him this time; he must sense what frame of mind Jiho is in. But it’s over, now. He’s not ashamed, although maybe he should be. They can’t take back the last ten minutes, and Jiho can’t unkiss Yukwon, can’t untouch him, can’t undo what he’s done. He feels not just the reality but the finality of it, sealing his fate, and he follows Yukwon out of the coat room.

He isn’t surprised to catch Seolhyun’s eye as he closes the door behind him, her standing out like a beacon that’s drawn to him, and he’s not proud of what a coward he is, but he’s out the front door in a few strides, onto the street, slipping into the night.

 

 

 

 

Minhyuk looks good. Minhyuk always looks good, his special brand of sociopathically impeccable dress really does it for Kyung. Kyung wants to see him in a pair of shorts and maybe ruffle his hair but he’d come away with a hand smeared with hair gel and a perfunctory talking-to. Minhyuk waits patiently while Kyung glares at him, neither cracking under each other’s pressure for several long minutes.

“You know Yukwon,” Kyung says.

“We’re old friends.” Minhyuk says it in a way that makes Kyung wonder if they’re actually old lovers, but he lets that slide.

“And you didn’t tell me this because?”

Minhyuk shrugs, a gesture that Kyung can’t tell is feigned indifference or if Minhyuk really doesn’t care about him enough to give a proper answer. “It never came up.”

“Bullshit. You heard me on the phone with Jiho, you heard me say Yukwon’s name. This is some serial killer-level of secrecy.” Kyung’s gesturing so wildly with his champagne glass that he’d been spilling all over the artwork if he hadn’t finished everything in it. “Did you know who I was before we met?”

Minhyuk’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not stalking you, Kyung.”

“Excuse me if I don’t believe that of all the people in this city you just happen to know my friend’s friend and have somehow planned an elaborate way for us to meet here tonight.”

“You really think I would do that?”

Kyung plays with the glass in his hand. He glances around the room but they’re still alone. “I don’t know what to think.”

“This wasn’t some elaborate ploy to get you into bed.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or not,” Kyung says after minute, and Minhyuk cracks a smile. It’s genuine, that much Kyung can tell. He feels calmed after getting it all out. “Let’s go back to yours.”

“I can’t just abandon my own gallery opening,” Minhyuk says, but he steps forward into Kyung’s space like he’s thinking about it.

“There’s a coat room.”

Minhyuk laughs, and maybe Kyung will never stop feeling proud of himself that he can do that. Kyung hooks his fingers in Minhyuk’s belt loops, looking up at him through his eyelashes, forgetting for a minute who he is and what he wants. It would be so easy to kiss him, in a back room of an art gallery with no one else around, surrounded by tiny resin stags hanging from the ceiling, but. But. He can’t. He steps back, letting go, and Minhyuk doesn’t follow him.

“I like your party,” Kyung says, glancing around the room. Two couples walk in with their phones out, and Kyung’s glad he didn’t act on impulse. One of the men walks up to Minhyuk, blocking Kyung’s view of him, to shake his hand, and that feels like a good enough goodbye, so Kyung slips out of the room. No one tries to stop him as he leaves, and he sees who he thinks is Lee Taeil, but it’s dark, he can’t be sure, and he doesn’t see anyone else he knows.

He’s leaning against the wall outside when Jiho rushes out ten minutes later, with a haunted look like he’s running from something. He stops when he sees Kyung before he comes over, and they slide with their backs to the wall at the same time, sitting on the dirty street like the messes they are.

“I had sex with Yukwon,” Jiho says.

“I can’t handle any kind of emotional vulnerability right now and I’m pushing away someone who might be my soulmate.” Kyung watches Jiho chew on his fingernail. “Just then?”

Jiho nods. “I think Seolhyun knows I’m in love with him. I don’t know how to…” Jiho trails off. He stares out across the street as if he’s somewhere else, looking at something else. “I’ve been over this a thousand times in my head. I’m tired. It’s like trying to hold a ball of yarn that’s splitting as you unravel it, the ends going everywhere. Every time I think I know a way to fix this, I lose it. And then I keep making it worse.”

“I guess you just have to own up to it?”

It doesn’t make Jiho look anything close to calm.

“I’m sorry, Jiho. I’ve never been through anything like that.”

Jiho reaches out and takes Kyung’s hand, a small act of intimacy they haven’t shared in a while. He must really be stressed if he’s coming to Kyung for comfort. “You really like Minhyuk?”

“I think so,” Kyung says.

“And that’s scary for you.”

“This soon after Eunbi? Yeah. Really scary. I’m not ready to be hurt again.”

Jiho snorts. “Not everyone is out to hurt you, Kyung. Some people just want to love you.”

Kyung doesn’t retort with how they could when he’s himself, when he’s achieved nothing and keeps pushing people away. “I’m not making it easy, am I?”

“No,” Jiho says, and, slowly, taking his time, squeezing Kyung’s fingers, “you’re not. I know it’s not easy, letting people love you, but you’re a good person, Park Kyung.”

“I hope it works out for you,” Kyung says, softly, the sentiment almost threatened into non-existence by the people around them and the passing cars. They let the noise of the street wash over them, alone, together, in their anonymity. They seem to both have a knack for leaving people in their wake, a talent neither of them cultivated willingly. No one’s going to come looking for them now, what they’ve done has seen to that, so they sit for a while, feeling sorry for themselves, hoping that somehow if they go back inside things will be better.

But they won’t, so they don’t.

 

 

 

 

When Kyung gets home his head is bursting with ideas, the same as it was the morning he met Minhyuk. He hastens to scribble them all down in longhand, his notebook a mess after only ten minutes, and he keeps going, filling pages and pages with metaphors about yarn and assonance for assonance’s sake and similes likening his feelings to a jet engine spiralling out of control, a pilot facing the free-fall willingly instead of ejecting their seat.

He takes it to his poetry club meeting and reads it aloud, his malformed thoughts, his diarrhetic purging, and feels better than he has in a long time. He feels whole again, reshaping himself through his own writing, as if seeing himself clearly after so long spent seeing himself reflected in other people’s eyes, his perception of their perception of him. His poetry reminds him of who he is, what he wants, what he needs, and it makes him brave.


End file.
